


The Beast Inside

by Phelpshobbit



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Suicide, Romance, Ugh, cuddly anders, is a nice anders, someone just give poor mitch a hug okay, tags how do they work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phelpshobbit/pseuds/Phelpshobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell never wanted to hurt Anders, but he ended up doing so anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast Inside

_They say it's what you make_  
 _I say it's up to fate_  
 _It's woven in my soul_  
 _I need to let you go_  
 _Your eyes, they shine so bright_  
 _I want to save their light_  
 _I can't escape this now_  
 _Unless you show me how_  
  
 _Demons - Imagine Dragons_  
  
***  
  
It wasn’t the first time he thought about it.  
  
The first time was when he had done it for the first time - when he first had fed. He had tried so hard to ignore the desire for blood but he’d lost the battle in a very short time. His first victim was a friend of his - but hey, at least he had drugged him first so that he hadn’t felt the pain of sharp teeth sinking into his neck, so it was all okay, right? That’s what he had thought at first right after feeding from him, that it was okay. He had been his friend, which meant he would have understood how much he needed it and how much he couldn’t cope without it. And he hadn’t felt any pain. So it was okay.  
  
He still remembered how good the blood had tasted, how it had been warm and fresh and delicious when he had drank all of it, the ecstasy he had got of it. He remembered how he had never before in his life felt so good and amazing, how it was better than food, better than sex, better than feeling the warmth of the Sun on your face in a beautiful day in summer.   
  
But then the guilt had came. It was horrible. He had felt horror, he had been so scared of what he had become, a monster that was willing to kill his own friends to numb his own pain. He had never wanted to hurt, let alone kill anyone as if the war itself hadn’t been terrifying enough… He remembered how he had cursed that day he’d been recruited, how he had cursed ever joining the army, how he had cursed he had ever made the deal with that man he had met in the forest, how he ever let him sink his disgusting fangs into his neck. He remember how he had trembled, how he had cried next to his comrade’s dead body. He remembered how he had promised himself to do anything to stop being that horrible monster he had been made. Anything.  
  
That was the first time he had thought about it.  
  
He had noticed the knife on the table and he had known that it would be his way out. He had known that if he ever left that tent, he would only kill more and more people, so he would never leave that tent. He would grab the knife, sink it in his chest over and over again or cut his throat with it, because death was the only way out. It was the only way that would stop him from killing and feeding and spreading chaos.  
  
He remembered how he had grabbed the knife, looking down at it with his shaking hands and how he had bitten his lip when he had pointed it at his chest, how scared he had been. He had already died once so it shouldn’t be that hard, he had thought. For a long moment he had just sat there, pointing the knife at himself. Too long a while. The more time he looked at the knife, the more difficult it became to actually stab himself. And he remembered the man in the woods mentioning something about immortality.  
  
How loud and desperately he had cursed when he finally had dropped the knife, because he knew that wouldn’t be enough to kill him. That would not be his way out. He had ran, fled out of that tent. He’d find the man again, make him tell him what would kill a vampire, and he promised himself to do it as soon as he knew.  
  
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He was a coward. Instead of sinking that stake into his heart he had sunk his teeth in another innocent person’s flesh and oh, how nice it had been drinking again, forgetting the guilt and the pain and the nightmares. How nice it had been to become the nightmare.  
  
After that night the beast had gotten too strong, too wild to be tamed. It had ran around, killing, massacring tens and hundreds of people. Old or young, adult or a child, male or female, straight or gay, a Christian or an atheist… None of that had mattered. They all had tasted the same. They all had tasted delicious. He had killed and every time he had sank his teeth on another person’s neck, he had enjoyed it. He had soon learned that there was no better feeling in the world that the one you got when you had your mouth full of fresh and warm blood. Sure, every now and then he had wondered what would it be like to stop and actually had managed to do that for a couple of days, but then the nightmares had came back. It was so much easier to kill again. Who could have blamed him? It wasn’t like he had chosen to become this monster, his actions weren’t his responsibility. He had been made the monster, he was the victim, it wasn’t his fault he had to keep killing.  
  
It wasn’t until decades later he had been standing next to a particularly young child and her whole family’s bodies that he had thought again, “Should I stop?”  
  
He hadn’t stopped, but the thought had haunted in his mind for a long time. He had learned to feel a bit guilty after the killings again. He had known he couldn’t stop, but most times, he had felt bad. He hadn’t wanted to kill. He had often wondered if there maybe was a way he could feed but still restrain himself from the killing. But no, of course there wasn’t a way; it was either going completely clean or keep on killing. He had chosen blood.   
  
And then he had fallen in love.  
  
She had made him understand that he should stop killing, that there was no excuse for taking another human being‘s life. She had made him human again, she had helped him through the pain and the bad dreams, the withdrawal symptoms and the guilt and the horror and the desire for blood. The first months had been terrible, he hadn’t been able to go out without nearly killing the first person to get in his way, there hadn’t been a day when he hadn’t thought about all his victims and seen their dead, pale faces in his dreams. But with time it got easier, and that had been when he had felt like he had just been given a new life. It had been the most amazing time of his long life.  
  
Months had passed, they had lived through some good and some bad things together. There’d been long walks on the beach, dark days indoors when it had rained a week in a row, picnics under an apple tree, cuddling at the fire on a cold day in winter. Those kinds of things that he would never have again. And then it had ended. He didn’t remember how, but somehow they had just drifted away from each other, and then he hadn’t seen her again in years.  
  
Slowly he had started to turn back into the cold, violent man that he was before. He had started killing again. But that time the guilt had stayed, he had felt it every time he sank his teeth into someone’s skin. There had been one time when he had curled on the floor beside the bed after killing yet another young woman, crying because he’d been so angry and disappointed in himself.   
  
That was the second time he had thought about it. After he had managed to get back on his feet he had broken the nearest chair, taken its leg, found a knife and carved the piece of wood into a sharp stake. The killing had had to stop, and that was the only way to do it; to kill himself. But for some reason, he wasn’t sure why (maybe it was some sort of instinct), he hadn’t done it that time either. Instead, he had decided to go clean no matter what.  
  
It had been hard. There had been times when he hadn’t been able to spend two days without blood, sometimes he’d managed to go through weeks, sometimes months. But every single time he had relapsed.  
  
Then, just a couple of years ago, he had met his new best friends, George and Annie. With their help he had managed to go clean again; not once, since they had gotten to learn each other, had he killed anyone. There of course had been that one time when he had bitten, and even though it wasn’t any better to make someone into the same kind of a monster he was, at least he hadn’t killed her, and that could’ve been counted as some sort of progress.  
  
Six months ago he had, having no idea how or why, fallen in love again - with no other than a freaking reincarnation of the Norse god of poetry. It had been a big surprise for himself, falling in love with such kind of a person; because Anders, he was nothing he usually had found attractive. He was foul-mouthed, perverted, mean and as everyone else had said at first, annoying. But he hadn’t been able to help himself, and soon he had found himself falling for him.   
  
There, of course, had been one, big problem; the scent of a god’s blood was so much stronger and so much more tempting than a normal person’s blood. But as always, when he really wanted something, he had ignored all the negative things concerning it.   
  
“The last person I had these kinds of feelings for - she made me go clean for ages. I’m sure you will too”, he actually had once told him once. He had completely ignored the fact that she had only been a normal human being, not a goddess, and that her scent had been just as normal as everyone else’s. But he had promised himself that he would never hurt Anders, because if there had been one person he hadn’t wanted to hurt, it was him. No matter how annoying and mean he sometimes was, that man had somehow managed to steal his heart. He loved the feeling of the god’s hands on his body, the warmth of his body against his skin, his crappy jokes, the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, the colour of his eyes and his golden hair, his everything. He was sure he could never do anything to hurt him, he was too important.  
  
And there he was, sitting at the end of his bed leaning his back on the cold wall, holding a stake in his hands, his knuckles white when he squeezed it. Because after everything, after half a year of knowing him, he in fact had hurt the person he loved the most. After he had tried not to bite his neck he had done so anyway, after he had fucking managed to gain his full trust and made him fall for him too! He had well known that he had been tired, he was weak and thirsty for blood, he should have known better and he still had fallen into the bed with him. It wasn’t Anders’ job to know better, know when he was about to relapse, it was his own duty to protect the man he loved from everything evil, including himself.  
  
He could still taste the god’s blood on his lips and it made him want to throw up, he could still hear his screams in his ears and feel his nails digging into his skin. He had tried not to hurt him, but apparently he hadn’t tried enough.  
  
So, it was the third time now that he thought about it. He stared at the stake and gritted his teeth when he pointed it at himself. He was a monster, he was a plague, he was a walking nightmare; because what sort of a man would ever try and kill his own beloved? What sort of a man was ready to even once give up to his sick instincts and feed from a person that he’d known for ages and that trusted him to not do that? He was a disaster, he didn’t deserve happiness, he didn’t deserve being close to anyone, he didn’t deserve to live… It would be much better if he just finally got on with it, everyone would be much happier and most importantly, safe, if he was nothing more than a pile of ash.  
  
He, however, got cut off from him thoughts when he heard someone knocking on the door.  
  
He just grunted, not caring to answer to the knocking so the person behind it just decided to walk in without waiting for an answer. He glanced at him once and then quickly turned his face away, scared that he’d attack him again if he even looked at him.  
  
“…What are you doing in here? You should stay away”, he muttered, his gaze on his own toes. He lowered the stake, held it on his lap but didn’t let go of it yet. Anders rolled his eyes, walked in with two cups of tea in his hands, and he kicked the door shut behind his back.  
  
“Well, I practically live here, don’t I?” he sighed. “I mean, we’ve slept in that bed you’re sitting on right now, together, for what seems like ages, and I don’t a room for myself in this house and I really could use some sleep. I’m not gonna sleep on the couch either, because if someone’s gonna do that it’s you.”  
  
“Fine. I’ll go take it then, you take the bed.”  
  
“No”, Anders said strictly. “John - No. Stay here.”   
  
He walked closer to him slowly, as if he was being careful to see how Mitchell would react, and the vampire noticed it. Of course he would now be careful around him, he was supposed to be scared, terrified even. He bit his lower lip, hiding his face from the other one.  
  
“I’ll hurt you.”  
  
“No you won’t. The only thing you’re gonna drink tonight is this tea”, Anders said, but seeing the vampire clearly wasn’t interested of the tea, he placed both of the cups on the nightstand. He looked at Mitchell with a bit worried expression on his face as he studied him. “…You were not planning on fucking stabbing yourself with that stake, were you?”  
  
Mitchell scoffed. No, he was just holding it for fun, he just liked staring at it. For fuck’s sake, Anders was supposed to grab the stake and just simply kill him. Anders wasn’t stupid, he was supposed to have by now realized what kind of a monster he was, he was supposed to do anything that he wouldn’t keep walking around hurting anyone else.  
  
Anders, though, didn’t think the same.  
  
After a long silence with neither of them saying anything, he just sighed and carefully sat on the bed next to his boyfriend, laying his back against the wall. He could feel the vampire tensing up beside him, but he didn’t care, as long as he just didn’t either attack or run away.  
  
“You know…” he started with a quiet voice, clearing his throat. “If you wanted to kill yourself, you should’ve done it before there was anyone who cared about you. There’s Annie now, there’s George… There’s me. You can’t do it now. It would be just selfish.”  
  
“Selfish?”  
  
“Yeah”, Anders nodded, and this time the tone of his voice was a bit angry. “You think it will all be better if you’re gone, but think about the ones who you leave behind, who would need to fucking bury you-”  
  
“Oh but it would be better if I was gone!” Mitchell snapped cutting Anders’ sentence, and he finally looked up at him. Anders didn’t move, he just stared back at those dark, now red and tired and angry eyes, but he didn’t even flinch.  
  
“You think I’m the victim”, Mitchell growled. “You pity me. You think I only feed because I have no other choice, you think I suffer, that it’s painful and I must do it to stay alive - but you’re wrong. Do you know what it’s like, feeding from someone? Do you know what it’s like to sink my teeth into another person’s neck? It’s not horrible and terrifying to me, I don’t cry while doing it. I enjoy it. The warmth of the blood, the taste… And when they try to fight back with all their strength, and when I can feel their fear and horror and when the life leaves them… It’s perfect. I enjoy it, I love it.”  
  
Anders’ eyes were cold when he looked at Mitchell, listening to his speech. Mitchell expected to see some kind of horror on his face, even a hint of fear, but the god only grinned at him, mockingly.  
  
“Are you trying to scare me or something?” the Kiwi sneered. “Because it’s not working.”  
  
“You could be dead, Anders. At this very moment, you could be laying in the morgue, George could be calling your family, telling them to start arranging your fucking funeral, telling them some crazy guy murdered you -”  
  
Mitchell’s voice broke down when the image of Anders’ cold, dead body returned into his mind, and he grimaced and looked back down at the stake resting on his lap. He took a couple of deep breaths - that he really didn’t need to take - before talking again, with a quiet and hoarse voice.  
  
“…I don’t want to be that guy, Anders”, he sighed. “I don’t want to be that guy who enjoys hurting people. I’ve killed before, I’ll do it again, sooner or later…”  
  
“You won’t”, Anders replied. “I won’t let you. I promise, I will help you, you know I will -”  
  
“Anders -”  
  
“No! You’re not doing it!”  
  
“I want you to do it.”  
  
Anders frowned when Mitchell looked back at him, he blinked a few times before he understood what that was about.  
  
“What, you want me to stake you?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Anders studied Mitchell’s face, trying to find even a tiniest hint of that maybe the vampire was joking - because what the hell kind of suggestion was that - but there wasn’t any, the look on his face was sad but confident, and there was no sign of humour. There was a long silence before either one of them said anything, both of them only staring at each other, and then the confused and angry look on Anders’ face softened and this time it was him who looked away.  
  
“…Nah. I love you too much.”  
  
Mitchell was stunned, the confident look on his face turned to surprised. There he sat, opening and closing his mouth again not knowing what to do or say, and then he tilted his head.  
  
“…Did you just say you love me?” he required with raised eyebrows, his voice a bit more high-pitched than he meant.  
  
Anders looked back at him, this time a sad, faint smile playing on his lips.  
  
“I did, didn’t I?”  
  
“Your powers don’t work on me anymore, you know.”  
  
“I know. I wasn’t trying.”  
  
“Oh, I just thought, because you were sort of mumbling…”  
  
“Oh, knock it off, will you?” Anders mumbled rolling his eyes. He then sighed, looking back at those brown eyes that again had turned away. Anders may not usually have cared a lot about other people’s feelings and emotions, but he couldn’t say he enjoyed seeing the sadness on his boyfriend’s face. Quite the reverse. He missed that silly, wide boyish smile. He raised his hand to the vampire’s cheek, swiping the curly locks away from his face and he then rested his forehead against his temple.  
  
Mitchell swallowed and then sighed.  
  
“…Does it hurt?” he asked with a low voice, and to Anders he sounded like a small, innocent boy who accidentally had left his little sibling’s fingers between the door and its frame, and the image made him chuckle.  
  
“Hell yeah”, he answered. “Hurts like a fucker. But Annie patched it up pretty well, she thought I wouldn’t even need stitches. Maybe your subconscious or something fought back, because you didn’t even hit the artery. But I’m fine, Mitch, I really am. You just scared me a bit.”  
  
Mitchell stayed silent, not answering to him, so he just sighed and closed his eyes, nudging his nose against the vampire’s cold skin.  
  
“I made my choice, John. I decided to stay. I might have gotten frightened and flown home when I first got to know what you are, but as you can see, I came back and I stayed. I know what you’re capable of, I know just exactly how dangerous you can be and maybe I’m an idiot but I stayed and I’m not gonna leave anywhere. And I‘m not going to fucking kill you because you made a mistake once.”   
  
“…But you should be scared of me. Or angry.”  
  
“I was scared. Who wouldn’t, when you suddenly find someone that you trust sinking their teeth in you neck… But I had the whole day to think about it. I know that you didn’t do it on purpose and I can’t actually believe myself saying these words but… We’ll take it carefully from now on again, so that that won’t happen again. I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. And when it comes to being angry, that I really am! Not only because you could maybe have given me the heads up before you bit me, but mostly because who the fuck asks their boyfriend to fucking kill him?”  
  
Mitchell glanced at Anders quickly and then sighed, leaning closer to him trusting himself enough to know that this time he wouldn‘t hurt the younger one even if he was close, and he rested his head against his forehead.  
  
“I’m sorry. It’s just… Some days I really don’t think I deserve to live. I might be able to go clean for a long while but that won’t last forever… Someday I’ll kill again. The only way I’ll stop is by being dead, and I can’t do it myself, I’m too much of a coward. And then I hurt you…That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, Anders, and I did it anyway. And for that I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry… I don’t know what I’d done if I’d killed you.”  
  
“Probably gone crazy and either gone and killed dozens of people or then killed yourself. But see, I’m not dead. Neither are you, neither is anyone else, and that’s good. And as I said already, I’ll help you. For starters, you could give me that fucking stake.”  
  
Mitchell sighed and nodded faintly. He stared at the piece of wood in his hands for a while before handing it to Anders whose hand was already awaiting, and the New Zealander grabbed it and threw it on the floor just wanting to get rid of it quickly, and he grabbed the brunet’s face and turned it to himself, pulling him into a deep, caring kiss. It was one of those soft and tender and loving ones only Mitchell knew Anders was capable of, and he smiled into it. He could almost smell the blood through his soft skin but for now, he didn’t want to taste it. He’d had plenty of his blood earlier in the morning, and it made him strong again, for a while at least, and it made it easy to resist it.  
  
A god’s blood still was tastier and stronger than a normal person’s, so Mitchell could only imagine what the withdrawal symptoms would be like…  
  
When Anders finally broke the kiss, there was a wide smile on his lips.  
  
“Much better, isn’t it?” he chuckled. “And now… You’ll need to drink this.”  
  
He grabbed the mugs from the table and Mitchell groaned.  
  
“I don’t want tea.”  
  
“I know, I would’ve preferred a beer or two myself, but Annie insisted that what  you - we - needed now, was tea”, he grimaced and handed the other one of the cups to the brunet, taking a sip of his own a bit cooled but still drinkable tea. He glanced at Mitchell who was staring at his own cup almost angrily, and he laughed.  
  
“Come on, grumpy, You’ll have to drink it. I think Annie’s still a bit mad at you for attacking me - I think she fancies me.”  
  
Mitchell snorted.  
  
“She doesn’t fancy you, she’s just that kind of a… kind person. She takes care of everybody.”  
  
“Wouldn’t blame her though. I’m very fancible. Is that a word? It’s a word now.”  
  
“Yes you are.” Mitchell smiled softly at him, and although his eyes still were red, it was much better than the sad look he’d had, and made him once again look like a fucking puppy - and if Anders’ heart had been even slightly warmer, It would’ve melted at that. He rolled his eyes again and nudged his shoulder.  
  
“Go on. Drink it.”  
  
It was Mitchell’s turn to roll his eyes and he took a big swig from his cup, downing all of the drink down his throat in a second and then handed the cup back to Anders.  
  
“Happy now?”  
  
“Very. Good boy”, Anders smirked, stroking the older one’s head after he’d placed both of the cups back on the table. He carefully wrapped his arms around Mitchell’s shoulders and the vampire leaned closer to him, smiling when he felt the god kissing his neck once and then burrowing his face into his hair.  
  
“…You told me your first ‘I love you’ with a ‘nah’”.  
  
“Isn’t that better than nothing?”  
  
“And we’ve been dating for almost half a year…”  
  
“Better late than never. Especially when you’re thinking about committing a fucking suicide.”  
  
Mitchell could hear Anders’ voice quivering just slightly and he realized how worried that had made him, how that had scared him. Mitchell sighed, this guy was impossible… He got more scared when Mitchell was about to kill himself than when he’d almost killed him. That really was fucked up, but Mitchell just wrapped his arms gently around the smaller man’s back, kissing his ear.  
  
“I know, I’m sorry. Sorry for worrying you, sorry for hurting you”, he muttered, stroking the Kiwi’s back. “And I love you too.”  
  
Mitchell heard a quiet, muffled laugh.  
  
“…And you say that too often. It’ll start losing its meaning if you keep repeating it tens of times per day.”  
  
“Dickhead.”  
  
“I know, I’ve been told”, Anders said with a smirk, and he broke free from Mitchell’s grasp with his hands on his shoulders. “Come on, we need sleep. Let’s get undressed.”  
  
Mitchell nodded, and after a while they were both only in their underwear and T-shirts, and when they laid on the bed Mitchell pulled the covers over both of them.  
  
“Well”, Anders started when Mitchell pulled him close and studied the bandages on his neck with his fingers, “At least Annie has now seen both of us naked and having sex on your bed -”  
  
“I really don’t think it counted as sex, it was far from it by the time Annie appeared -”  
  
“ - I mean, I don’t think it will some as big of a shock if she, possibly, sometime happens to walk in on us having sex on the couch.”  
  
“Anders! Not in the living room!”   
  
“I thought it would be a very good idea. Just saying.”  
  
Mitchell rolled his eyes and then went back to studying the wound, and when Anders found the apologetic look on his face again, he placed his hand over his, pulled his hand down from his neck and entwined their fingers together.  
  
“It’s fine, really. It will heal with time. Come on, come here…”  
  
And he grabbed Mitchell’s shoulder turning him around, wrapping his arms around his waist when he curled around him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades because that was the only place he could reach with his mouth. It made Mitchell let out a warm, amused laugh.  
  
“Come on, Anders, you’re far too small to be the big spoon…”  
  
“Shut up, it’s you who needs the spooning and cuddling anyway, it’s you who looks like a lost puppy.”  
  
Mitchell chuckled softly, leaning into the warmth of his boyfriend and took the hand around his waist into his own, caressing the back of Anders’ hand with his thumb. It was nice, for once just laying there together - at the moment Mitchell was too scared for anything more, he was scared he’d end up hurting Anders again and Anders knew that, not even suggesting anything. He was, anyway, being almost uncharacteristically caring - but Mitchell didn’t care to mention that, he knew that by morning he’d be his normal, shithead of himself and Mitchell was going to enjoy this as long as it lasted.  
  
After a long while, when Mitchell thought Anders had fallen asleep already, he heard the blonde talk with a tired and quiet voice.  
  
“…D’ you reckon we could build an aquarium somewhere there, in the corner of the room? Or somewhere in the living room, or kitchen maybe?”  
  
Mitchell laughed.  
  
“Would you like that?”  
  
“I miss my goldfish”, came the sleepy answer.  
  
Mitchell just chuckled, giving the god's hand a gentle squeeze.  
  
“Goodnight, Anders.”  
  
“G’ night.”  
  
As much as Mitchell thought Anders was an idiot for not leaving, or that maybe he himself was an idiot for not making him leave because that would’ve been much safer for him - He loved having him around, he loved that stupid god of poetry. And maybe, just maybe he would really be able to help him to continue going clean - Maybe the third time of thinking about it had been the last for a long, long while.  
  
Maybe Anders would be able to tame the beast inside.


End file.
